


Five Glimpses into a Secret

by fennelseed



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bath Sex, Canon Era, Fix-It, Friends With Benefits, Infidelity, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 01:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6353449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennelseed/pseuds/fennelseed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five brief scenes covering Merthur over the years, from manservant-with-benefits to Relationship of Destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Glimpses into a Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the theme of “secrets,” the February 2016 theme challenge at the Merlin_Writers LJ community: http://merlin-writers.livejournal.com/214471.html

1

After Arthur wakes up from the sleeping draught outside the labyrinth, following that whole unicorn-killing debacle, Merlin is so relieved that he immediately kisses him. On the mouth.

Still sprawled on the beach in his armor, Arthur screws up his face in bewilderment, because, yeah, the two of them kissing, that’s a first. Merlin has rather surprised himself with that one.

Feeling like an imbecile, he seizes Arthur’s hand to help him up, and starts babbling. “Oh, thank God, I thought you were dead, and, well, he said you weren’t actually, but who could be sure in a weird situation like this, and—I mean, what was I going to tell the king if you _were_ dead or, or, permanently unconscious or something? And, anyway. Are you feeling all right?”

Arthur squints, grinning as if he finds Merlin totally ridiculous. “I’m fine. Let’s find our way out of here.”

Arthur has more patience than Merlin would have given him credit for. He waits a whole day before taunting Merlin about the kiss. They return to Camelot first, ensure that the crops are growing again and the city is saved. Uther congratulates Arthur—though, Merlin thinks with resentment, the king doesn’t know the half of Arthur’s courage. Then when Merlin and Arthur have brought the unicorn back to life by returning its horn to the woods, Arthur watches the beautiful creature gallop away, turns to Merlin with pleased wonder in his eyes, and says, of all things, “Were you _kissing_ me when I woke up, or did I dream that?”

Startled, Merlin jerks away a step. “I—well. I gave you _a_ kiss. One. I wasn’t, like, kissing you, like going on and on with it, the way you make it sound. And it was only because I was relieved you weren’t dead. Because if you were dead I’d be in huge trouble.”

Arthur has his arms folded, absorbing Merlin’s incoherent explanation with what must be a great deal of amusement, to judge from his smirk. “Ah, well. You missed out on a treat, then. I’m much better at it when I’m conscious.”

Oh, here it is, the teasing. Merlin expects no less. He’s been preparing comebacks. “Mm, I don’t know, you seem like the type who’d shove their tongue where it wasn’t wanted, and slobber everywhere. I think unconscious is probably much better with you.”

Arthur lifts his eyebrows, still smirking. “Is that a challenge?” He saunters closer.

Oh God.

Suddenly Merlin completely wants this. Why? Arthur is so obnoxious—and, okay, brave, and much nobler than he seemed at first, and yes, handsome, but anyone would look nice with all the bathing and grooming and fight training and high-quality clothes Arthur gets to enjoy. And maybe he is Merlin’s friend, actually, which is a very weird development in itself, but still, none of that means Merlin ought to have kissed him or ought to want to kiss him again, and oh God, Arthur’s still waiting for an answer and Merlin’s just gaping at him like a fish.

Arthur takes hold of Merlin’s jacket in both hands, steers him backward two steps, and plants his back against a tree—casually, neither rough nor gentle. “Well, look,” Arthur continues, “I can’t go on letting one of my subjects think I’m bad at something when I’m not.”

Merlin can hardly breathe. Details flash back from that quick unconscious kiss: soft lips with the wet trace of tasteless potion, scratch of invisible blond stubble around his mouth, smell of beach rocks and metal armor and Arthur’s skin… “Mm, I don’t know,” he says, trying to sound skeptical and normal, just everyday cheeky Merlin here. “Still don’t believe you.”

Which is totally an invitation. He knows it, and Arthur obviously knows it. With a gloating smile, and his hands still holding Merlin by the jacket, Arthur leans in and brushes his lips against Merlin’s, incredibly soft, a butterfly-light touch. Arthur lingers for a second, form-perfect, like he’s posing for a romantic tapestry of a prince kissing a fair lady. He’s clearly making a point of demonstrating that he’s capable of a delicate kiss, and it’s silly and absurd.

Then he pulls back, but Merlin doesn’t let him get far. He hauls Arthur back in—a harder kiss this time, more like peasant lovers rolling around together under a bush at a fertility festival. He has no idea why he’s doing this, except somehow he knows it could feel really good if done right, and he wants to show Arthur how right he can do it. He tilts his head; his hand tangles into Arthur’s hair. Arthur adapts quickly, leaning forward so Merlin’s pinned to the tree, and strangely it’s quite delicious, both of them kissing with open mouth now, though Arthur still refrains from employing the thrusting tongue Merlin accused him of.

It’s a whole minute or more before they break it off. They’re both breathing fast. Arthur wipes wetness off his lower lip with his thumb, and flashes a glance at him. “Who’s slobbering on whom now?”

“You started this.”

“Did not. You were the first with the kissing business. And then I was going to leave it at the non-slobber type of kiss, but you _grabbed_ me and-”

“Oh, all right, let’s just go home.” Merlin pushes off from the tree and stalks past, but Arthur catches his arm.

The prince hesitates before speaking. “You know…I meant it when I said I was glad you were with me. That’s why…well.” Arthur nods toward the tree, almost shyly, as if to indicate why he allowed a really indelicate kiss to take place up against it just now.

Arthur chooses the oddest moments to say sweet, sincere things. Merlin stares at him in irritated confusion, then caves in to his impulses and starts devouring Arthur’s mouth again.

Soon he’s pinned to the tree once more, and though he expected it not to be very comfortable to get all tangled up with someone wearing chain mail, it’s actually arousing him quite a lot—not the chain mail specifically, but the whole situation. The contrasts. Hard mail and fierce grip and rough tree bark contrasted with soft mouth and silky hair and slippery tongue. Because, yeah, this time they’re going ahead with trying out the thrusting tongues, and in fact it’s more than welcome; it’s far better than the disgusting scenario Merlin imagined. Also there’s the contrast of everyday life with Arthur, which tends to be exasperating and rude, against this, which is…like having a lover. For a few minutes, at least.

They break apart after even longer this time. They wipe their mouths and look at each other, mystified.

“Okay, well um, proved your point,” Merlin says.

“Yeah.” Arthur straightens up, finding his dignity in posture. “I should think so.” His tongue touches his lips as he glances away toward their horses, then he gives Merlin a cautious look. “Listen, this whole unicorn-labyrinth mission was secret, and so is anything that happens on it. Including this. Most _especially_ including this.”

Merlin snorts. “Oh, like I’d brag about it? It’s the last thing I’d want anyone to know.”

“No one would believe you if you tried, and I’d only put you in the stocks for saying it,” Arthur points out.

“Good. Fine. Never happened.”

They start walking toward their horses.

“Besides,” Arthur says, “just some kissing. Not as if it matters.”

“Nothing to concern anyone,” Merlin agrees.

“It’s not as if we were having it off in the dead leaves or anything.”

 

2

After another year they’re having it off in the dead leaves fairly often. Or in Arthur’s room. Or in the stables. Or in Merlin’s room if Gaius is out. Just, whatever’s convenient, whatever they can fit in around the rest of life. And there’s plenty of “rest of life”; it’s not like this is all they do. They defeat monsters, go on quests, risk their lives, save Camelot or individual innocent peasants, wonder what the hell is going on with Morgana lately. They even have flirtations: Arthur with Gwen, Merlin with Freya. They just have each other to fall back on, is all, in their free time.

Kissing got them too hot and bothered after a while, so they reckoned wanking together was also acceptable. Then, since they were both right there within reach, they decided they might as well touch one another. Then, since that felt so nice, they might as well try other things that sounded fun. Merlin’s learned, contrary to what he once said, that in actuality there’s basically no part of his anatomy in which Arthur’s tongue is unwelcome.

It’s still a secret. Still just something friends do, or something a prince and his servant can do. Thus “manservant” has come to mean more like “willing man-whore;” Merlin realizes that; but nonetheless, their leisure activities needn’t concern anyone else. Every so often, Arthur reminds him they shouldn’t let on to the rest of the world, and Merlin tells him he knows that perfectly well, thank you, idiot.

If the dismissive secrecy insults Merlin, well, maybe he’s insulting Arthur right back by keeping his magic a secret. So, they’re even. He gets sex out of the deal. It’s all fine.

 

3

After Arthur is crowned king, life gets busy indeed. Merlin shadows him whenever possible, worried about Agravaine, worried about what Morgana’s up to now, worried about some other loathsome person popping up to try to kill Arthur, worried Arthur will forever hate magic after the way Uther died. But on the whole Arthur seems to be handling life and his new duties quite well, so mostly Merlin is proud, far more proud than worried. He and Arthur have destiny on their side, after all. He stays ready to throw magic around if need be, but honestly, without Uther’s heavy presence oppressing them every day, life is fairly good.

At the end of one evening, a few weeks after the coronation, the yawning Arthur exchanges cheek kisses with Gwen, who holds his hands at chest level and tells him how proud she is at how he’s been doing. Merlin looks away, reminding himself he truly likes Gwen, and anyway, Gwen and Arthur aren’t married yet; they’re in fact still totally chaste with one another, and that doesn’t even seem to bother Arthur.

Merlin has plans for tonight, in any case. He’s betting Arthur will go along with said plans, judging from the sly behind-the-back grope Arthur gave his crotch earlier, through his royal red cloak, in the press of the noble crowd and with Agravaine standing right next to them, for God’s sake.

Arthur yawns again, and Gwen smiles and tells him, “Go to bed, silly.”

“Good plan.” Arthur lifts his chin toward Merlin. “Merlin.”

“Treat him gently,” Gwen tells Merlin. “But not too gently.”

She couldn’t possibly know how apt that suggestion is. Merlin tries not to grin. “Oh, I promise,” he tells her, and they leave her and go to Arthur’s rooms.

They lock the door. By candlelight, Merlin helps Arthur off with the cloak and chain mail and jewels. “I took the liberty of ordering a hot bath.” Merlin uses his aloof servant voice for the remark. He’s still standing behind Arthur and unfastening kingly clothes.

Arthur glances halfway over his shoulder. “As long as it’s a full-service bath.”

Merlin unbuckles Arthur’s belt, slides both hands under his trousers, down along lean hip bones and muscle, until his fingers rake into warm pubic hair. “But of course, Sire,” he says, his chin on the curve of Arthur’s neck. He wraps a hand around Arthur, who’s already half hard, and desire sears through him.

He lets Arthur’s trousers drop to his ankles, and keeps stroking him to completely-hard. Groans punctuate Arthur’s breath; he leans back against Merlin. Merlin rubs his clothed erection against Arthur’s bare arse, riding surges of lust, then forces himself to let go, and tells Arthur, “Into the tub.”

Arthur gets naked and climbs into the steaming tub. Merlin shucks his jacket and rolls up his sleeves, but stays dressed otherwise. For now.

Since they have all evening, he draws out the teasing: spends a long time massaging soap into Arthur’s scalp, the back of his neck, his shoulders. He’s rigid inside his trousers, tortured practically, but it’s a type of torture he loves. He makes a show of checking that every inch of Arthur’s arms and torso are washed, and pretends to ignore Arthur’s erection, even when Arthur, glaring at Merlin, lifts his hips so the tip protrudes from the water.

Merlin leans across to fetch the escaping cake of soap from the opposite side of the tub, and gets distracted on the way by the need to kiss Arthur, whose mouth is all wet and clean and slick. Merlin lets his hand drag across the tip of Arthur’s cock at last, in the water, and captures Arthur’s gust of exhaled breath in his lips.

“And this, Sire. How should we take care of this tonight?”

Arthur flicks his gaze down Merlin’s chest, then back to his face, his blue eyes afire with lust. “I think you need a bath as well. You seem rather _filthy_.”

In under a minute Merlin’s nude and stepping into the warm water. Arthur parts his knees to make room for him. Merlin slides closer, suds swishing, and maneuvers his legs around Arthur’s waist. Soon they’re rubbing hard against each other while he sucks Arthur’s tongue as avidly as if it supplied him with breath.

He doesn’t have to ask if Arthur’s ready. He can tell how far gone he is by the thrusts of his hips, the insistent grip of his hands up and down Merlin’s arse. Merlin shifts upward, braces his legs around Arthur, and eases himself down onto that hardness, gasping in a breath as it spears him. Sometimes he uses magic to loosen up (without Arthur knowing, of course), but in the wet soapy bath he can go without.

They thrust and writhe together; Merlin’s knees bang the sides of the tub; Arthur holds his hips and braces his forehead against Merlin’s chin and mumbles, “God, yeah yeah yeah…”

“Now,” Merlin gasps, and Arthur’s ready; he slips a hand around to squeeze Merlin’s cock, and Merlin comes almost instantly; and seconds later, so does Arthur.

They rest a moment, all tangled up, soap suds floating by, Merlin breathing the thunderstorm scent of Arthur’s wet hair. Then Arthur wriggles free, Merlin glides to the other end of the tub, and they grin. Arthur flicks water at him. “Pretty good, that time.”

“Very.”

It won’t always be like this. Arthur will have to marry, and life will surely change. Merlin tries not to let that get him down. Life changes for everyone. That’s what makes it life and not death. Maybe he carries more secrets than the average person, and that makes him sad sometimes, but he also gets to do things like this with a handsome young king, which certainly isn’t true for most people.

He’s lucky. He just needs to remember he’s lucky, whatever happens.

 

4

After Arthur marries Gwen, Merlin makes sure to stay busy; very busy; absurdly, insanely busy. It’d be silly to be jealous. He isn’t jealous. He doesn’t burn inside when he sees two sleeping forms in Arthur’s bed every morning instead of one, or when Arthur flatters her with kisses and compliments. No. Of course not. Merlin likes Gwen. She’s been his friend. He doesn’t hate this situation—there’s nothing to hate, because he’s not jealous, not at all.

And the fact that Arthur hasn’t pounced him in private since a few weeks before the wedding, which in turn was over a month ago, well, probably that’s only because Arthur’s been so busy lately too. And besides, maybe they’re just done with that now, and this is Arthur’s way of telling him so, and that’s fine; Merlin understands. He isn’t sulking. He’s just busy, and worried, and doesn’t have a lot of faith in destiny anymore, even, and he hates everything sometimes, that’s all. Not this situation in particular, just life, generally.

One evening when Gwen is out enjoying a dinner with Elyan, Merlin finds himself in the rare position of serving Arthur a quiet meal alone in his chambers.

“Like old times, Merlin.” Arthur sips from the wine goblet.

Merlin swings away to set down the bottle of wine. “Hardly,” he mutters.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin doesn’t answer, only strides past to fetch a linen napkin.

On his way, Arthur snares his wrist and stops him. “Sit.”

Merlin glances coolly at him. “Is that a royal command?”

“Yes. Sit.” He tugs Merlin down into the chair beside his. But he doesn’t let go of Merlin’s wrist; he settles both their hands on the edge of the table, and strokes his thumb against Merlin’s, frowning at it. “It’s been a while.”

Merlin dreads this conversation. He’s sure to hate it. Just like he hates so many other things lately. “Yes, well. You’ve had a wedding to take care of, a lot of things to deal with.”

Arthur clicks his tongue. “Is that why you’re being like this? Because I’m married now?”

“Being like what?”

Arthur only lowers his chin and lifts his eyebrows, keeping his gaze steady on Merlin.

“Well,” Merlin tries, “it does matter, you know. It’s changed things, apparently.”

“It doesn’t have to. We were a secret before. We can carry on being a secret. Why is it different?”

“Because! Married!” Merlin ought to yank his hand away from Arthur’s. He doesn’t. “And it seems you don’t want to, or you would have.”

“That isn’t true.” Arthur slides his thumb deep into Merlin’s closed hand, which feels inescapably erotic. But when he continues, he sounds quiet, not suggestive. “Things are…complicated, true. But Gwen and I are not…as close as it may appear.”

“What are you talking about? You kiss, you sleep in the same bed…”

“Yes, and she’s my queen, and we all love her, but. Well. She’s the only woman I could abide being married to, or having as my queen, and that’s why I did marry her, but…”

“No,” Merlin insists. “You two are all…true love, and everything.” He manages not to make it sound sarcastic, even. He congratulates himself silently on that, all the while still hating himself for resenting even slightly the marriage of two of his best friends.

Arthur’s fingertips find Merlin’s, brushing them over and over. The tiny nerve endings thrill at every pass. “I thought so, for a time. I’m not so sure now. Nor is she. We’ve spoken, and…suffice to say she feels the same. It was like this before the wedding, in fact, and things haven’t changed.”

Merlin’s heart is beating hard. “But…you didn’t tell her about me, did you?”

“Good Lord, of course not. Look, she’s very understanding, but I’m not going to expect her to understand that. There aren’t…there aren’t a lot of people who would. Understand.”

“No. Dallying with me, why would anyone understand that?” Merlin lets himself sound bitter. Lets his hand stay wrapped in Arthur’s. “I’m just a dirty secret.” Which, really, is true in so many ways, lots of which Arthur’s not even aware of. God, how did Merlin ever think he was lucky, living all these lies?

“That’s not how I think of you.” Arthur sounds quietly emphatic. Merlin looks at him, and is struck by the lines temporarily etched into his face, the marks of sincerity and confusion. “This—whatever it is—with you,” Arthur goes on, “has been much more constant for me, all these years, than anything with her or anyone else. It’s strange, isn’t it? And even though I can’t explain it, not even to myself, I want to keep it. I hoped you’d want to as well.”

Merlin feels his heart might crack open and reveal too much through his eyes, which are annoying him by being all soppy and filling with tears. “I hate secrets.” His voice comes out wobbly. Angrily he sniffles, and wipes his nostrils with his free hand. “And…and I’m constantly living with them, and you don’t even know, everything I go through, and all for you and you don’t even…you don’t even have any idea…”

Arthur grips his hand tightly, leans over, and sinks him into a wine-flavored kiss. Merlin gives in. Again. Because truly, how can he object to this secret when he’s keeping a greater one from Arthur all the time?

Also he’s in love. He’s been in love all these years. Yet another thing he’s never told Arthur.

He hates secrets.

 

5

After Kilgharrah assures the tear-sodden Merlin that Arthur will rise again one day, Merlin decides not to let Arthur go. He bears Arthur’s lifeless body to Avalon. As the boat drifts through the shimmering boundary, Merlin gives himself over to the enchanted isle, letting it do what it will to him.

It drops him into a long, long sleep.

When he awakens, his arms still hold Arthur, who is stirring and murmuring, his body warm and whole.

Together they sit up, find themselves in a tangle of overgrown grass beside the lake, and stare at each other in shock. Then Merlin bursts into a flood of happy tears and embraces Arthur as tight as he’s physically able. When Merlin pulls back to gaze at him again, the king wears tear-streaks down his face too, and an ecstatic grin. They look at Merlin’s falling-apart rags of clothing, and laugh, then break off bits of Arthur’s rusting armor, and laugh again.

“How long has it been?” Merlin demands, and they stagger to their feet and find a small boat bobbing against the otherwise empty green island. They climb in and glide back to the living world.

There they find a land they have never seen, never dreamed of, its fields and forests chopped off at the edges, and interrupted with machines moving fast, hard perfect roads, bizarre plain buildings. They stand on the shore, blinking in astonishment at it, then at each other.

“Well,” Arthur says.

“Well.”

Arthur holds Merlin’s hand, and squeezes it tight. “Before we go any further… Now that I know your secret, I’ll tell you mine. I love you. The whole time we’ve been asleep, I’ve been dreaming of telling you, wishing I had long ago. So, there. I’ve finally said it.”

Merlin can’t stop beaming. “I love you too. God, I wish I had told you sooner—told you everything, but especially that. Because I always have loved you, through all of it.”

“Merlin. I may not have guessed about the magic. But I did guess that one. It was clear in everything you did for me.”

Merlin laces his fingers between Arthur’s. “Good. I hated it being a secret.”

“Me too.” Arthur lingers in a soft smile at him. Then he draws in his breath, lifts his chin, and squints at the strange new world. “Together, then.”

“Together. Into…whatever this is.”

They walk away from the shore, side by side.


End file.
